What Alice Forgot - Liane Moriarty [30]
“Well,” she said, and felt unaccountably awkward. It felt like things weren’t exactly right between herself and Elisabeth. There seemed to be a sort of stilted, friendly politeness, as if they were good friends who didn’t see each other so often anymore.
She would ask Nick about it. It was one of the best things about him; he liked to talk about people, study them, and work them out. He was interested in the complexities of relationships. Also, he loved Elisabeth, and when he made fun of her, or complained about her (because she could at times be profoundly annoying), he did it in just the right brotherly way so that Alice didn’t feel she had to defend her.
Alice looked at Elisabeth’s beautifully cut cream suit (both their wardrobes seemed to have improved in 2008) and said, “Are you still working at the catalogue place? The Treasure Chest?”
Elisabeth had a job writing the text for a huge monthly mail-order catalogue called The Treasure Chest. She had to find clever, persuasive things to say about hundreds and hundreds of products, anything from bananaflavored lip gloss to an instant egg poacher to a waterproof radio you could play in the shower. She got a lot of free stuff to give away, which was nice, and every month when the catalogue came out, everyone in the family read out their favorite lines to Elisabeth. Frannie kept every issue of The Treasure Chest on proud display and made her friends read it when they came to visit.
“Oh, that feels like such a long time ago,” said Elisabeth. She looked at Alice and shook her head slightly, as if she’d never seen anything quite like it. “You’re like a time traveler. You really are.”
“So I guess you don’t work there anymore?” Alice felt irritable. This was going to get tiring if everyone looked at her with awe each time she asked a simple question. How much could have changed in ten years? It seemed like everything.
“The Treasure Chest is a website now,” said Elisabeth. “And I stopped working there about six years ago. I worked for an agency for about four years, and then two years ago I started running these training seminars on how to write direct mail. Or junk mail, as most people would call it. They’re quite—well, they’re quite successful, actually, as strange as that may seem. Anyway, it pays the bills. I was running one today when I got the call from Jane about you.”
“So it’s your own business?”
“Yes.”
“Wow! That’s so impressive. You’re a success story. I always knew you would be a success story. Can I come along and watch you?”
“Come along and watch? Watch me?” Elisabeth snorted.
“Oh. I guess I’ve already done that, have I?”
Elisabeth said, “No, Alice, you’ve never shown the slightest interest in coming along to one of my seminars.” Her voice had that sharp edge again.
“Oh,” said Alice, confused. “That seems . . . well, I wonder why not?”
Elisabeth sighed. “You’re just really busy, Alice. That’s all.”
There was that “busy” word again.
“And also, I think you find my whole choice of career maybe a bit—tacky.”
“Tacky? I said that? I said that about you? I would never say that!” Alice was horrified. Had she turned into a nasty person who judged people by their choice of a career? She’d always been proud of Elisabeth. She was the smart one, the one who was going places, while Alice stayed safely put.
Elisabeth said, “No, no, you never actually said that. You probably don’t even think it. Just forget I said that.”
Maybe, thought Alice fearfully, the other Alice who has been living my life for the last ten years isn’t very nice.
Alice said, “Well, what about me? What do I do for a job?”
Alice had worked as an administrative assistant in the pay office at ABR. She didn’t love it or hate it, it was just a job. She wasn’t especially interested in a career. “You’re such a domestic goddess. You’re like a 1950s housewife,” Elisabeth had once said to her, when Alice admitted that she’d just spent the most blissful day gardening, making new curtains for the kitchen, and baking a chocolate